


Who Dies

by troubleinmind



Series: You have no control [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 16:57:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11294844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubleinmind/pseuds/troubleinmind
Summary: When the love of your life is eaten by a kraken, what do you do with the house you were going to build for her?This is sort of a continuation, sort of a remix of Who Lives. A different take on what Percy might do if everyone else had been eaten by the Kraken in episode 88.





	1. Chapter 1

It is a cold night when he makes his way down from the castle towards the empty plot. The moonlight illuminates the fog of his breath in the air, and the stars have never seemed farther away. He flexes his fingers. His gloves are fur lined leather, excellent make, a lord’s gloves for the lord of the winter city. Even so it is a cold night, and he can feel the chill start to seep in at the seams. It matters little. Tonight's work does not require the precision of his fingers, only the labor of his arms.

He arrives at the edge in short order, but then it was never a far walk. In another life it might have been familiar, even more than it already is. He might have come this way a thousand times, morning and night, in slow afternoon sunshine, quick under cover of darkness, arriving just before dinner or just after the taverns close or any number of other times. In another life he might be making this walk just now, but he doubts it. The night is far too cold at the end of the season and the hour is late. He imagines he would have been here hours ago in another life. In this life he is always late.

What remained of the old house after the fire had been ripped out months ago, and the ground left bare in expectation of new construction. It would have been a grand house, but the newly completed plans have dwarfed it entirely, and markers run out far past the turned earth in every direction. The little temple, familiar and sacred, stands to the side, pale stone under pale moonlight. He stands at the edge of a rope-line, imagines what will be. Tries not to think about what might have been and fails.

He remembers another night much like this one. The air had been warmer, softer, smelling faintly of earth and ocean. The gentler southern winter air had held the promise of a coming spring, of growing things and new life. Tonight the air holds nothing but ice. The crunch of the frost under his boots sounds nothing like her laughter, the glint of the moonlight looks nothing like it had in her eyes. Oh he had been so alive then. So full of hope, so consumed with his ideas. Standing in that field with her, thinking wild thoughts of the home they would have together, the home he would make with her. It had only been the shadow of a thought. He had not known then how he could love her. He had not known how he could lose her either.

Tomorrow teams of workers would come out into this field, would carve out even and orderly shapes, pack down the earth. A foundation would be laid and construction would begin, bringing weeks of careful planning into physical being. Tonight, however, he is alone, and alone he will begin the work. He will pour the sweat of his body and the last of his heart into the ground, bury his memories at the door of what will be.

He hefts the shovel and begins to dig.


	2. Chapter 2

It is the largest and grandest temple to the Raven Queen on the continent, second only to Vasselheim in prestige and power. It draws visitors from across Tal’Dorei, pilgrims unable to travel across the ocean, religious scholars, or those simply curious to see so large a display of veneration.

In the halls and chambers they whisper rumors and legends. Great deeds and almost impossible miracles by the man who built this temple. Some (newcomers) say he was her champion, god ordained and fate touched. They say he once slew a goliath in single combat and carried its skull away as a trophy. They say he stole the heart of a fey demigod and escaped unharmed. They say his acid tongue could kill men, that he stole the mind of Raishan the deceiver, that the gods themselves come at his call.

They say he is devoted, and how could he not be? The third house of Whitestone has been given over in all its estate to this temple. But it is not surprising that a man who carries death in his hands would follow death’s goddess. He is never seen in the main temple, but the little chapel, flawlessly maintained and tightly locked, must be his personal place of worship and private sanctuary.

The citizens of Whitestone know otherwise. Although the lord of the city maintains its third house in pristine condition and at great expense, he has not even once entered the temple or set foot on the grounds. The little chapel which is so precious is sealed against entry and those locks are never undone. Lord de Rollo has no love for any god, and would cut off his own hands before he would ever raise them in supplication. He is not, however, opposed to bargains, and if a god could be bribed he would be the type to make the offer. They remember another who loved bargains, and loved gifts even more. They remember the man who loved giving them. They do not know which this is, a bribe or a final unthinkably lavish courtship gift. They do not question it.

**Author's Note:**

> Angstfest take 2! Because apparently that is what I write now.
> 
> the memory in the fourth paragraph of chapter 1 is a reference to Chapter 7 of [The Last Snowfall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7724989/chapters/17606734) by the inestimable [Khirsah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Khirsah/pseuds/Khirsah), which I cannot recommend highly enough if you like slow burn.


End file.
